The Winds Of Change (1)
The Man Who Could Change You “Excuse me sir, you are Conrad Michaels, are you not?” asks a young man. “What did you call me?” asks the confused middle-aged man who puts down his coffee and looks his young inquisitor straight in the face. A feeling of dread and anxiety fills him as he sees that this man is alone. “I called you Conrad Michaels, your birth names. Do not insult my intelligence trying to deny it. I know all about you,” replies the straight faced young man in a calm, yet distinctly authoritative voice, “I know that you used to operate some kind of miracle cure all clinic. You claimed it was a biotechnology research firm, but I know otherwise.” Stunned to silence and with a blank face, Conrad Michaels simply stares at this person. This confident young man just stands in front the table in the cafe terrace and doesn’t move. They remain in silent eye contact for what feels like ages to Conrad. He then breaks eye contact, looks around at the other cafe patrons and nobody pays any notice of this confident and attractive young man. Conrad picks up his coffee, takes a large sip and puts it back down, leans back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest. Beads of sweat trickles down from his temple and coagulates in his beard. The heat of this hot, mid August day seems to be increasing by the second. “Have a seat young man. You seem to be the bearer of information not even my associates are aware of. And since you know who I am, would you mind telling me just who you are?” The young man takes the seat directly across from Conrad, and leans forward comfortably on the table. “My name is Carl Franken, I was never a patient, I mean customer of yours, but I know all about you. A former client of yours whom you cured contacted me. He is a veteran of the war in Asia, like myself. He was once different from normal people, he thought he incurred some sickness due to biological warfare, but it was nothing like that at all. I believe after you helped him, you were also never quite the same.” “So you do know everything. Do you know how dangerous this information is?” says Conrad as he sips his coffee again. “The fact that you know what you do endangers my very life. We cannot continue this conversation here. Meet me at this address tonight at 10:00 PM. This is my private penthouse at the Toffler building on Keyes Avenue downtown,” Conrad hands Carl a business card, gets up and walks away from him without so much as a good-bye. Conrad walks over to a limousine waiting for him in front of the cafe. He gets in and it drives away. Conrad sits back; he cannot believe what has just transpired. His secret is out. He thought only his common-law wife Irene knew. There is no way that Carl could have gotten to her. All his past clients were sworn to secrecy and are always being monitored. Irene sees to it that none speak of what they underwent. Dear sweet Irene, always so dedicated, always there for Conrad. The past eight years have seen tremendous changes in Conrad and Irene’s lives together. Up in his penthouse suite, Conrad shares a drink with Irene. She is stunningly beautiful; her Hispanic lineage gives her a dark and beautiful skin tone, almost like pure bronze. At thirty-six years of age, she has the body and features of a twenty-year-old. It is 9:50 PM and they are seated on a leather sofa in the living area of their studio style suite. “Do you think he wants money?” Conrad asks her. “I do not know. But I will know as soon as he shows up. Then it won’t matter what he wants, since I always get my way,” she answers with a coy grin. “Except for that veteran I treated, we lost him, and now we know he’s told Franken. Who knows who else he’s told.” “That’s not fair, you know as well as I do that he was an exception. After five and a half years and nearly 7000 cases treated, my record is rather outstanding.” “Yes, I am aware of that. But now we have at least two enemies.” “Conrad, you always are the one to worry. We’ll use Franken to lead us to the veteran, and then we can get rid of them both if need be.” Just as they were talking, the security station on the ground floor called up to Conrad, calling him by the name they know him as. “Mr. Russell, there is a Carl Franken and Joyce Dickinson here to see you. They say you are expecting them sir.” “Yes, send them up the private elevator please, Samuel,” answers Conrad on the videophone. “Yes, Sir Mr. Russell.” A few minutes later Carl Franken and his wife Joyce Dickinson emerge from the elevator and are greeted by Conrad while Irene waits not too far behind him. “Hello again, Carl. You never said you were bringing your wife,” greets Conrad in a slightly annoyed tone. “Ah, so you’ve checked into my background I see. And that must be Irene Spinoza,” answers Carl with a slight grin. Irene looks at Carl and Joyce and immediately a painful expression of shock overcomes her. “Oh my god Conrad!” trembles Irene. Before she can continue Joyce walks up to Irene and places her hand on her cheek, tilts her head slightly and says in a monotone right into Irene’s mind: Nice try Irene, but that won’t work on me or my husband. “Irene? Irene!” exclaims Conrad with a mixed look of fear and anger as he turns from Carl and glares towards the two women. “They are like us Conrad! The woman, she is like me, she speaks to me in my mind!” Irene shudders as her mind is being touched for the first time. “You mean there is more like us! Just exactly who are you people!” Demands Conrad. “Yes, many more. We don’t yet know how many. We are what have been termed metahuman,” says Carl as he walks towards the living area, “let’s all sit down and we will tell you why we are here. “ They all walk to the living area, Joyce walks with her arm around Irene’s shoulder in order to comfort her since Irene is sobbing slightly. Irene then joins Conrad on the sofa. Holding hands, they sit opposite Joyce and Carl. Carl then begins, “We are here because we know the two of you have extra ordinary abilities, you are metahumans like us. We know this because a former client of yours contacted us. He came to you deathly ill three years ago. He thought that he acquired a disease from biological warfare that occurred during the Two Years War. He claimed that he was from Canada and fought for the UN army in eastern Russia. Well, I am sure you know of the conspiracy theories that have been going around since the war ended nine years ago.” Conrad interrupts, “ Yes the ones about super humans with powers and abilities beyond normal humans, who apparently started the conflicts that began the war. And the governments of the world siding with the most powerful of these metahumans. All of these metahumans were assumed to have been killed during the war. I thought it was utter nonsense while I was working for the military doing genetic and chemical warfare research. I met Irene after the wars end, and I’d never been different until nearly two years after the war.” “Well as I was explaining, “ Carl continued, “ This man who calls himself Joseph, was a metahuman. He wasn’t ill; he was undergoing his metamorphosis, as he explained it to me. Anyway, Joseph said that your company charged him only $10,000 for his treatment, and that he was in a coma for some weeks afterwards. Then he told me that you cured him of whatever made him different; except that he claims to have acquired unbelievable knowledge during his coma. He said he knows everything that there is to know about every metahuman: he knows their names, where they live, if they are alive, and the full extent of their powers. He also claimed that he knows how it all started, how this phenomenon of metahumans came to be. Joyce and I didn’t believe him until he described everything that was true about us. He refused to elaborate on how we came to be though.” “So why are you really here Carl?” asks Irene. “Because Irene,” explains Joyce, “ he wants to gather all of us who he thinks are the most powerful. Carl and I are no longer what we once were, but he wants us to contact those whom he seeks out. He told us about you Irene. You are the most powerful telepath alive. You are able to read minds and control thousands of people quite easily, that is how you and Conrad operated your company. No one spoke of the treatment you gave them. The only people you are unable to affect are other metahumans, children, and adults that are considered genius. I am a telepath as well, but since the war, I can only communicate with those I come into physical contact with. But I could never control others. Your power is very dangerous.” “So what did he tell you about me Carl?” asked Conrad. “He wasn’t explicit with details. Joseph explained that it is you Conrad, not any technology you invented that cures people. You can cure metahumans so that also makes you a danger to any paranoid ones that like what they’ve become. And since you can cure disease and bring the dead back to life, that makes you the most important man alive today Conrad. Now do you want to tell me exactly what it is you do,” says Carl as he leans back in the love seat. “Well, it appears that I no longer have the choice anymore,” says Conrad in a low tone of voice. “Everything began in 1989 shortly before the war ended.” II SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA: OCTOBER 13, 1989 The war in Asia that had spread throughout various parts of the world officially ended. Conrad Michaels is meeting with some people, members of a nihilist blood cult. He has been meeting with these people for a few weeks since he was released from a military hospital for suffering a nervous breakdown. The people he is meeting with are quite sick and depraved, beyond madness. They believe that nothing they do is real and consequences are nonexistent. Conrad himself has been changing; he believes that he has gone mad and as a result he really cares about nothing anymore, not even his own life. The members of this cult meet every few days at someone's residence. They immediately begin indulging in all sorts of drugs and alcohol. Prostitutes, both male and female, are regularly in attendance and the members perform violent and sadistic acts on them in turn. At the conclusion of each “meeting” each member bleeds into the same chalice, sometimes mixing it with semen, and they each then drink from this. Of the seven members other than Conrad, they each claim to have performed acts of cannibalism and necrophelia; three claimed to have killed for these very purposes. They have convinced Conrad to take part in a most hideous act; they are going to kidnap a woman, rape her, and begin eating her while she is still alive. They plan to do this over a period of many days. “Kill. Well who really lives anyway? I’ve helped kill so many during the war; one more death makes no fucking difference. Yeah, that’s it, how can anything be real. After this act is complete, I will bring an end to reality.” Conrad thinks to himself as he walks up the stairway in the abandoned building they have chosen for their sickly ritual. He walks up to the door and knocks his full name in Morse code, he is then let in. As Conrad walks into the darkened, cold, urine smelling room, he is nearly in shock. He was not prepared for what he sees. Flashing red, blue and green lights illuminate the room, there is strange techno-metal music pulsing throughout. He sees the seven men all sitting on the floor. Some are injecting what is most likely heroin; others are smoking crack, others consuming grain alcohol. One man is holding a very shiny machete, another a very large hunting knife: each man is completely naked and in possession of some sort of stabbing and cutting weapon. The worst is right in front of the men. Conrad sees a woman gagged with duct tape, her hands shackled and hanging above her from a chain to the ceiling. She is unclothed and has bruises on her face, blood dripping from her nose on to her thigh as she hangs there. “Conrad, nice catch huh,” says the naked man holding a crowbar with very sharp looking ends. “We stalked this spick bitch for weeks. She has no family. Fucking nice package she is though, we ought to keep’er ‘live for some kind of time. Her suffering will be so god dam’ sweet. Let’s get’er ready.” As he says that, two others handcuff her ankles to the floor about two feet apart. “Wake the bitch up!” Yells a naked man holding a filleting knife. One of the men finishes hand cuffing her leg and then hits her hard in the stomach. She makes a moan but doesn’t come to. He then breaks a small vial under her nose and she quickly comes to. She suddenly shakes her head around, panicking looking at each of them. “Bitch is talkin’ to us in our heads again, tryin’ ta stop us! Ain’t gonna work you freak bitch! Here’s something to distract ya!” Yells the naked man with the crow bar as he whacks the crowbar hard against her right thigh. A muffled but desperate scream is let out. What are they going to do to me! You must stop them. A female voice rings loudly in Conrad’s head. He yells out in panic, “What was that! Woman’s voice in my head!” “Relax man, she’s one of them telepaths, can read your mind, talk to your head, nothing more. Who knew these freaks was actually real. Now its time to show her what she’s been seeing in my head,” says the naked man with the spear as he starts arousing himself. Please do something. You are the only one who isn’t truly mad. You can stop them. Conrad, please! “Fuck,” says Conrad under his breath, “I know you.” Conrad feels rage and bloodlust well up inside him. He wants blood, but this time he wants all theirs. “Time to end reality.” Without thinking, he gives in to his rage. He jumps at a sharpened crowbar lying on the floor next to its owner who is trying to force his way inside the bound woman. A second later the crowbar is impaled through the side of its owner’s neck. Conrad pulls out the now glistening red bar and lunges it into the chest of the first man to come at him. Conrad grabs the man’s machete and in a frenzy of rage and lust, kills each of the men. In under half of a minute all seven men lay on the floor, blood pooling rapidly between their hacked up corpses. Conrad stands and stares at the butchered masses on the floor, looks down at his blood drenched clothing; he has a deep cut in his thigh. The machete drops to the ground with a loud clanging. He turns and approaches the woman. He unshackles her and she steps back, tearing away the duct tape. They stare at one another a few seconds, and then Conrad falls back on the floor in immense pain. He has also a penetrating wound to his abdomen. He sits up, realizing the severity of his condition. “You can leave now. Let me die here with these scum,” he groans out as he clenches his side. “You said you know me. You saved me, from what I know you were going to participate,” she replies as she covers her naked body with a bloody blanket. She kneels in front of Conrad, and tears roll down both her cheeks. I can speak to you, but I cannot read your thoughts. The others, I could read their sick, mad minds; but yours is different. I also feel I know you too. I know you are not mad, but you are not normal either. “What is that supposed to mean,” murmurs Conrad. “You are not at all unlike me. You are a metahuman like me,” answers the woman with her soft voice. “What? Like in the tabloids?” “Yes, but for real. You have some kind of abilities you do not yet know of. You are not the first I have met either. The other one, I could speak to his mind, but not read it. He was unlike any other person I’d come across. I just knew he was like me, different that is. I get this same feeling from you. Except yours is extremely powerful. You are someone incredibly special.” “What? How can you know this?” asks Conrad as he winces at his wounds. “I just do. I trusted you and I was right. Now you’ll have to trust me. My name is Irene. Irene Spinoza.” III Conrad Michaels is standing over a middle-aged man lying on a table. The man looks very ill, and is unconscious. Conrad has the urge for blood. He cannot control it; he doesn’t know why he feels like this. Then without really thinking about it, he grasps the man’s left forearm, bends down towards it and takes a bite. He bites right into the man’s flesh, tearing at it like a piece of meat. The warm taste of blood fills Conrad’s mouth as he sucks in the blood and swallows a mouthful along with a chunk of the man’s forearm. The man does not move. Conrad steps away from the table. He is overcome with a strange sensation. Suddenly he is nearly paralyzed, he stands with his legs shoulder width apart, his arms bent against his body as if he were carrying firewood. His mind fills with nothingness. The man lying on the table begins to flicker, almost like an image on a television screen. The man on the table starts to vibrate ever so slightly, his appearance becoming blurred. But this only happens to the man’s body, his clothing remains inert to what is happening. The man’s blurred, vibrating appearance then begins to pulsate, almost beating while at the same time his features become less pronounced and somewhat transparent. This continues for several minutes until without any warning, his entire body disappears. His clothing flattens out right where it was. Nothing remains of him but his clothes. “Ah, What the!” Conrad awakens suddenly from his sleep, covered in sweat and filled with fear. Conrad, what is it? The same dream again? Speaks Irene softly into his panic stricken mind. “Yes. How long have I been asleep this time?” asks Conrad as he looks from the bed to the doorway where Irene is standing. “About 29 hours this time. How do you feel?” she asks as she walks over and sits on the bed next to him. “More exhausted than normal. It’s been ten weeks, and I am getting worse. I am starting to get scared. What if you are wrong and this is something I contracted during the war? I may be dying and going mad at the same time.” Conrad then gets out of bed with Irene’s assistance. He is dizzy and very weak. Strange things have been happening to Conrad for the last six weeks. He has been sleeping anywhere from eighteen to thirty-four hours at a time. At forty-one years of age, he looks ten years younger than he did. He has become a lot leaner, and somehow has grown from 6’1” to 6’7” in the last six weeks. His facial features are actually quite a lot different than before he started changing. His hair has gone from thick, wavy sandy blond, to thin, rapidly receding dark brown. He also now sports a full dark beard. “The dream has progressed this time,” explains Conrad as he sits down on a sofa, “The man completely disappears and I become paralyzed. He almost feels like he is a part of me.” “Really, and then you awakened. It makes some sense. You eat a part of him, and he disappears and becomes a part of you,” comments Irene as she brings Conrad a jug of water. “Right. Except the hunger I felt was clearer this time. I have always seen him as very ill. This time the urge to eat him was like that was some way of helping him get better. But if that were the case, then why would he disappear? And then why would I be paralyzed? It was like I was waiting for something to happen.” Conrad then starts drinking from the jug, madly gulping down the water. “What did it feel like you were waiting for?” asks Irene very curiously, “that has to be the key to everything.” Conrad puts down the empty jug; “I have absolutely no idea.” “Well it will most likely come to you soon. Maybe this time you will be up for more than a few hours though,” comments Irene, holding his hand tenderly. “Hopefully. I don’t dream of you at all,” Conrad stares disappointingly into Irene’s eyes. Come on, you need to eat first. IV SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: AUGUST 1990
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